Not So Bad After All (BWWM)(EDITING)

Chapter Thirteen

Not So Bad After All
Books One
Chapter Thirteen
Jayden's Pov
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"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair..."

Rose read aloud from her book before glancing up. "This poem was written in which of the following eras? Modern, Victorian, Romantic, Postmodern, or Elizabethan?"

I thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It sounds mushy and sappy, so I'm gonna say Romantic."

"Correct!" She grinned, nodding. "And it sounds mushy because it is mushy. It's romantic."

"It makes me wanna throw up," I teased.

She just waved me off, used to my childish remarks during our study sessions.

"Next one," she continued, flipping the page. "A man can hold land if he can just eat and pay taxes; he can do that. Yes, he can do that until his crops fail one day and he has to borrow money from the bank. But—you see, a bank or a company can't do that, because those creatures don't breathe air, don't eat side meat. They breathe profits; they eat the interest on the money. If they don't get it, they die the way you die without air, without side meat. It is a sad thing, but it is so. It is just so."

She paused, then read the question. "This passage comes from which of the following: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor, or U.S.A. Trilogy by John Dos Passos?"

I answered without hesitation. "The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck."

"Correct!" Her smile widened. "Okay, what historical period does this passage arise out of? World War II, the Great Depression, the Civil War, or Reconstruction?"

"The Great Depression. The guy is obviously stressed out," I said, leaning back in my chair.

"Right." She laughed. "The passage is based on the ideas of which of the following: Freud, Marx, Smith, or Emerson?"

"Marx," I answered quickly.

"Right again! You know what?" She closed her book for a moment, smirking. "You're actually pretty smart when you try."

Her excitement over my answers felt... weird. I wanted to roll my eyes and tell her to relax, but instead, I found myself soaking it in. No one ever got excited about me knowing stuff—unless it was on the football field.

"Yeah, well... it's not as lame as I thought it was," I muttered with a shrug.

Rose gasped dramatically. "Wait—are you admitting that you like literature?"

I shot her a look. "Only because these guys are smooth. Extremely sappy, but smooth. Girls actually like this stuff?"

She smiled down at her book like it was some kind of treasure. "Of course. Every girl deserves a Romeo."

I scoffed. "Oh, please. Loving someone so much that you'd die for them isn't realistic. No one would do that. Romeo and Edward Cullen set the bar at an imaginary, unrealistic height. Besides, shouldn't the goal be to find someone you want to live for and with?"

A slight smirk played on her lips as she listened, like she was actually impressed.

"I think that's the deepest thing I've ever heard you say..."